Part 7

_January 4th._ The night was delightfully peaceful and how I did sleep it out. The wind went down and morning came clear, bright and with a flooding tide that soon put me afloat again. While cooking breakfast I listened to something familiar in the sound of a distant motor and pretty soon, round the point swung H. with the launch going perfectly. You bet flag went to masthead as he stepped over side and we had one big joyful reunion. O, what a good, happy breakfast we did have. What fun it was to swap lies about our several experiences. He had twice tried to reach me, but weather had driven him back. He had spent a night at a southern boarding house where his roommate was drunk and unbuckled a big Colt’s 44 when he went to bed. He had found motor trouble rested entirely in electric coil, of which we had made two soups, so buying another was all O. K. and engine going as well as ever. As a relic and for what it has done, we still think of keeping our coil so carefully preserved in red flannel and sealed in pickle jar, for it helped push us many an anxious, weary mile. The inside route from here is so crooked and so shallow in many places that it seems silly to undertake it when it is only 54 miles with two intervening harbors outside. Even H. with stimulus of warm sun and bright skies agrees to tackle it again and so I shall run down to jetty to-night and get away early to-morrow. The wind still hangs southwest most persistently and I must keep a weather eye open.

_January 5th._ Had at least one good, quiet night but I was kind of wakeful and didn’t do it justice. Morning came a peach and tucking little helpmeet behind we were off at eight on the first of the ebb. Found a jumble of rolypoly seas outside breakwater, but with fair tide logged our 4 knots without sail as it was flat calm. Queer looking gulls around here, wings in the middle, bodies with great long pointed ends. Look just like some Boston people. Scotty began the day with another of her runabouts and retreated to the lazaret as usual. She came out in about an hour; saw or heard something and went all to the bad again. So much so that we had to shut her below fearing she would jump overboard. Never see no such sight. She has no fit spasm at all, just goes amuck with some kind of fear. We chugged merrily along and at 2 p.m. had Cape Romain with its miles of sand shoals abeam. As the chance looked good with easterly airs, we sent up the rag and let her run for Bull’s Bay some 12 knots farther along. Barometer climbing up to 30-1/10 began to make me think a bit for as soon as it passes 30 things begin to happen with us. The afternoon grew more and more to look like storm. The easter freshened to a smart breeze and we were mighty glad at 5 o’clock to haul into shallow Bull’s Bay through the channel near the lighthouse and drop anchor in the little river which begins the inside route to Charleston. We did 36 knots to-day in 9½ hours and nearly all with little kicker which never went better, and H. is justly proud. After a good supper of corn beef the mate reported fire in the oven and sure thing, my kindlings drying were all ablaze and such a mess and smoke before we got them out. Scotty appeared for supper and made a good meal but seems not entirely over her fright yet. Nine o’clock as I write and wind pricking on northeast. You bet it is good to be in this quiet little hole in the wall and not batting around outside. I figure that by coming outside to-day we saved several days of tedious inland work in very shallow water. From here to-morrow I can go to Charleston outside, weather fitting, or inside if things don’t look right.

_January 6th._ Bilged during the night and mine the weather bunk as usual. Had wonderful line of dreams and woke H. to ask him if he had pulled eel spear out of the mud and tied the crab net solid. You see we lost our whole bundle of spears, grains and harpoon iron when I bilged so heavily the night of the gale at Georgetown. My keel caught on the top of the bank and I went right on my beam ends. The scupper plugs alone kept me from filling and everything went to leeward. I just managed to keep stove covers on. Sorry they are gone, but so far they have been non-essentials and much in the way.

Turned out to find one of those mornings which first you know all about and then you don’t. Regular gulf weather with warm, damp easterly breeze. Could see nothing but worry and fret outside so on turn of tide, we put kicker behind and headed for the woods and hay fields. Spent a truly delightful morning twisting in and out the narrow waterway leading through the most gigantic piece of salt marsh I have ever seen. Some few little hell-divers gave us both a chance to show the weakness of our sporting eye. I finally nailed one for Scotty who turned out to-day as chipper as ever. We had alternate bright sunlight and dark cloud and the colors were wonderful. The brightest of bright blues and emerald greens, bright yellows and pearl grays. The distance always framed by the dark line of heavy pine and the foreground by café au lait oyster bars. At 12:30 just in time for lunch we ran quietly but decidedly aground and folded tents. As we ate we heard the one o’clock whistles blowing in Charleston. All about us are yellow legs, curlew, duck and plover, but at this low tide they are feeding on the flats and I only see them afar off. Henry hears them calling but being a bit deaf, I get no sound of it. A little tedious that. We floated and were away by 3:30 and on and on through the marsh as before. Passed the mouth of inlets and I tried in vain to get H. to enthuse on running outside for rest of the way. By 5:30 and as it was growing dark we hit a middle ground and stopped just in time for supper. Fine oyster stew we had from the little native oysters; H. picked up a basketful in a few minutes at noon. They are small, very sweet and delicate, and grow six or eight together in a cluster with edges as sharp as knives. We saw the darkies as we came along gathering them in their bare feet. I mean the darkies, not the oysters, had bare feet.

[Illustration: Through the Marsh.]

Floated again after supper and we dropped one anchor up stream and one down for the night which came dark and with fog.

_January 7th._ Turned out to find pouring rain and thick, thick fog. Leisurely good breakfast and with rain letting up after we slipped away only to run ashore a quarter of a mile. By quick work we dragged her into deeper water and settled down to a loaf until fog should lift. Soon after this a motor tug came by with a scow alongside. Wonderful how these natives can find their way in these crooked slews. Just then the tug took a jump in the air and the nigger pilot near shot out the window and there they were for the rest of this day. We had most delicious fried oysters for luncheon. Must get to a city pretty soon for yesterday, when lacing on sail cover, I laced my starboard whisker to the mast. After lunch we started again and went about 200 yds. and fetched up some more. One thing is very satisfactory round here; to go aground is neither strange, uncommon nor a subject of ridicule. “Everybody’s doing it.” This morning we allowed it was Charleston or bust to-day. I guess the busts win.

Yet one more guess, for tide came and we went another 100 yds. Then tide came some more and we were off and away. Through a drawbridge and so out into Charleston Harbor where we passed close to Fort Sumpter and then over to the City where we anchored in open roadstead with considerable tide off the fine clubhouse of the Carolina Yacht Club at 5 p.m., just four weeks to the day from Beaufort, and we had allowed four days at longest. We poseyed right up and went ashore where a member of the club most courteously gave us a stranger’s card and then to P. O. for lots of good news from home and so to a little restaurant for a good bite to eat. Mighty hot and sticky ashore with steam rising everywhere. Most enervating. Our legs going all wibbly, wobbly so. Mighty glad to get on board again where it is snug, peaceful and quiet. Scotty much to the bad again this evening with a real, genuine fit. Don’t know what to do for her and am very glad she has lately taken a fancy to sleep with H.

Turned in only to be turned out by Scotty who refused to have her fit comfortably in the lazaret, and proposed having it and actually did have it in the cabin. H. hid under his blanket, but I was brave, faced the danger and got Scotty’s initials scratched all over my bare feet. Shipwreck is nothing to a wet cockpit, bare feet, dark night and a fitting cat. Soused her with cold water and bundled her away under cockpit for the night. At four o’clock in the morning H. woke to find her cuddled to sleep most contentedly on his blanket, so that danger is for the moment past.

[Illustration]

_January 8th._ Turned out to a most muggy, foggy enervating day with thermometer at 75 degrees. Decided we better keep moving her southward, and if we ever get any time have it at the far end and on the return trip when the country should be at its best. So it was on shore with anchor for a new stock and to get a kedge anchor and things too numerous to mention but which sadly depleted my finances. To cap the climax, word comes from home that wifey has decided to keep what money H. had for Christmas and I could advance it to him. Don’t that beat all? Such a bully dinner of steak and fixings. Such a glorious hot bath and after that a long session with tonsorial artist. Then tumbled everything on board and by gum if up didn’t go northwest storm warnings. No place to take a twister, this Charleston. So up anchor and into the clubhouse wharf where we tied snugly. On shore for another good feed. Charleston, nominally prohibition, is really more wide open than any town I ever saw. The blind tigers are running with wide open eyes at every corner and the signs of open gambling everywhere. Commend me always to a good, gambling bar for good cooking and so we hit a mahogany palace having an electric roulette wheel for a sign. Right we were and a delicious steak we had.

[Sidenote: Map D.]

_January 9th._ Comes cloudy, mean and with a chilling wind that smacks of easting. The swash at the open dock had us rolling and gave me good warning to be up and away. It was early up town to a quick breakfast and visit to P. O. then on board, clap in two reefs, twist her round and off up the Ashley River to the tune the old cat died on. We soon found mouth of Wappoo Creek which was our inland way and up it we hustled under canvas. All day we kept the sail on her, winding and twisting through the marsh under a cold, cloudy sky. We finally were glad to drop over hook in a broad reach just below Martin’s Pt., perhaps 30 miles from Charleston. We knicked her once but twisted her into deep water, and jumped her up all standing on a middle ground just before anchoring for the night, but were soon off again. The night shut in dark and cloudy with a cutting wind out of northeast. Glass is again up to 30-2/10 and I suspicion trouble. Am all snug here and Scotty is all right again, the fire drawing well, so let her blow.

[Illustration: Old Charlston]

_January 10th to 15th._ Am not going to write daily log of this time for it would be too tedious reading, but it was by no means tedious living. We became part and parcel of the swamp and marsh. We were of it, in it, and passed through it like a muskrat or mink, like a snipe or plover. The tide; its set, speed and turning. The wind; its strength and direction. These were what counted and on them we either halted or went on. The ripple of the tide at every bend, the line of foam bubbles on every reach was a matter of constant interest and study. Such days are not for either rich or poor, for those ignorant or wise, but for those only who can cast themselves bodily into nature and be absorbed by it. I don’t wonder big launch owners and houseboat owners always send their boats south under charge of the crew. There could be nothing more dreary than just a-setting still and being taken through these twisting rivers that lead for miles and miles through the never ending rice marshes. We saw some ducks and shore birds, but got shots at very few and missed those ingloriously. One morning during a thick fog, H. tried Helen Keller at a cormorant which down here they call a nigger’s goose. The bird was on the wing, yet once it sounded as if the bullet had found meat but the bird didn’t drop. Two or three hundred yards farther on we came across him stone dead with the lead through his heart. The fog was a nuisance and brought us to anchor at the mouth of the river leading into St. Helena’s Sound which we wished to cross on our way to Hunting Is. H. went ashore to try and pick up a mess of something to eat, but at 5 p.m. yelled out of the fog that his boat was high and dry and he would like me to send him his supper on a tray. Foolish little boy. I got him on board again about 7 and mighty glad he was to crawl into the warm cabin and eat a good hearty supper for he had been nearly bogged, was wet through and plastered with mud. A bit scared, too, and I don’t believe will try this country again alone. He got seven shore birds, but cooked and ate them on shore himself. Greedy cuss. He brought me a present in a match box and when I opened it, out hopped a chameleon lizard right into my lap. What with Scotty trying to catch it and I trying not to, there was a very busy cup of tea. We caught him next day. Have named him Bill from Alice in Wonderland and added him to ship’s company.

One morning the fog burned away to as pretty a bit of blue sky and southerly wind as you ever saw. We were off to cross St. Helena’s Sound at once. What do you think? In an hour a black, vicious looking squall made up in the west and struck just as we had tied in two reefs. A short smother of rain and wind and then cloudy skies and light airs with strong tide and lumpy seas. That Sound is no Massachusetts Bay. All about are 1 ft. and 2 ft. spots. I did the best I could, but one spot that should break didn’t and everything else did and what with the tide sweeping us about we had a mighty anxious hour or two with the lead giving us from 9 to 10 feet of water on a falling tide. Finally got into our creek and of all dreary surroundings these certainly won out over any we have yet seen. For miles and miles the dark brown oyster bars stretched endlessly and the creek with many branches wound about like a maze. It was near night when we took bottom and learnt from some nigger oyster gatherers that we were way out of the main creek and bound for the sticks. So it was snug down for the night. At high tide these oyster bars will be covered and we will be anchored in a great shallow lake through which it would be most dangerous to try to navigate for these bars are simply covered with sharp pointed oyster clusters which differ in my opinion mighty little from rocks. Hundreds of big plover all over and about this afternoon. Big as pigeons, tame as pigeons, too. Went in launch to get some for supper. Missed them sitting, also flying, and came back without one. I am in that delightful stage when I pull the trigger three or four times before I shoot. Flinching? Well, I guess so. H. ain’t no better than I am. We have a standing bet of five glasses of Coca-Cola to one that the other fellow don’t kill. So far we stand even and nobody has hit a thing. Dreary, cold, cloudy, northeast weather. Put launch ashore and repacked stuffing box, but that didn’t stop leak which now threatens to almost sink her overnight.

The clouds all rolled away and a morning broke as bright as a new dollar with a waspish northeaster whisking across the marshes. It was off and away “pronto.” With single reef we cut things wide open. Slack sheet, down peak and away we rushed the reaches. In sheet, up peak and we beat her up the bends and then repeat with our wake swashing from bank to bank. We kept at it all day and it was one of the sporting sails of my life. Through narrow creeks, down broad rivers, across big sounds we drove and hustled. Just a little slip-up in jibing or tacking and we would have been in the meadows, but we made none. When we shot out of the creek into Port Royal Sound we made just three jumps and landed with a swash in the river on other shore. Old Mascot only wet her garboards twice in crossing, and the launch never touched water at all. So it was all day and we anchored for the night with Savannah, Ga., but a few miles away. The night came pretty as a picture, but snappy cold and with the highest glass we have yet seen, 30.2. Think must have change soon. When glass is persistently high down here I promptly suspicion trouble. By 4 a.m. I felt sure we were in for another duster for glass began to drop, heavy clouds rolled up from northeast and wind piped on. I lay awake hoping that I wouldn’t have to get out anchors until daylight for it was pesky dark and cold. Suddenly all the breeze let go to a dead calm and then came out of the northwest smartly but not troublesome and I got in some handsome winks until seven o’clock when I turned out to an undeniably pretty day and good breakfast. Then it was away under sail once more, and passing for a mile or so through a little winding creek, we entered the Savannah River and by noon were sailing along the water front of one of the busiest of southern ports.

_January 16th._ Comes deliciously fair, bright and warm. We have worked mighty hard for some sunlight like this and a little “dolce fa niente” served with some prawns creamed on toast won’t hurt either of us. To town where I was quite the centre of effort when they learnt at the bank that I had brought a 24 ft. catboat down _under sail_ in midwinter. I felt just like Dr. Cook. Sorry H. wasn’t along. In p.m. we took up hook, put launch behind and twisted our way for 10 miles through marsh to Thunderbolt. It looks very attractive here and if we can find a decent beach to haul out on, we’ll stay a day or two and complete repairs. We caught many flies for Bill to-day, but Bill is a dope and won’t eat a thing. You look out, Bill, or you’ll come off the way you come on.

_January 17th to 21st._ Found a boatbuilder and turned the launch over to him. Hauled Mascot on beach. Covered patch on her side and found rudder-hanger iron all torn off. Would have looked pretty bobbing about the Atlantic without any rudder. Air soft and mild, feels awful good and we were contented to take things slowly. Found Senator Cameron on houseboat _Alamida_. He asked us to luncheon and we went you bet. Bully lunch and decided change from my cooking. He must be a lonely man for he asked us to come again next day. Accepted, of course. He offered to tow us way to Jacksonville. I refused as it didn’t seem sporting to welsh on the last leg. Looked on at public dance at electric road’s casino. Everything as well ordered and conducted as at a private party. No rowdies, no splurge, but just a bully good time. There is no foreign or mill population to contend with, and no cheap sports throwing their coin. At the little roadhouses and inns on the way to town everything is well handled and we saw many little parties of two or three ladies together having supper without escort. Savannah is out and out the most attractive place we have yet seen.